This side street of Park Slope goes quiet. The holiday weekend, the sheer Sunday-ness of it all, it all boils down to this stillness, broken only by the sound of my shoes tapping on the sidewalk as I make my way to a friend's house for birthday brunch and sweet, sweet mimosas.
My vision, my ability to see, seems to expand until I feel like I can take in everything in front of me: the almost-bare trees, the washed-out-blue, cloud-chased sky, the crazy tilted sidewalk, the cars lining the street, the space all of these things fill, the ground of their being.
Above me in an apartment, someone begins to play an inexpert, but heartfelt "Rhapsody in Blue" on their piano, and the notes drift down from the open window, swirling around me like falling leaves.
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